The Mojave Diaries of George Blair
by daftheed
Summary: George Blair decides to keep a diary. His friend, a courier, convinces him that time is worth recording and events are worth writing about in the Mojave, beginning from his shack in Goodsprings. This is what he wrote.
1. 4 11 80

**Contextual note: I will be writing the dates in the European or "Everyone-but-America does it" style. That means the day first, then the month, then the year. So, for example:**

 **4/11/80**

 **That would mean 4** **th** **of November 2280 (this is fallout, hence the year)**

 **Unless I get too many people saying they are used to the American style (another way of saying if I happen to get America followers) I will keep them like this.**

 **My O.C is NOT the courier, but he may meet them.**

4/11/80

I have never written a Diary before.

My name is George Blair.

I am writing this in my shack in Goodsprings, in the Northwest of the town where I have lived for the last year. Town isn't the word for it. More like loosely collected houses, except for the fancily named saloon.

In truth I think lowly of it but were it not for here id be wandering and Christ knows im not well enough for that. I just get tired of speaking to people here. Nothing happens. And the couriers are always chronically late or even arrive on the wrong days. And that's just the ones that don't end up dead. I do try to keep an eye out for travellers, though. I-15 is quite lively right now. Plus Trudy knows I like to keep notes and record things. It would not surprise her to know I was keeping this diary. Nice of her to send the more interesting travellers to me. There are also a few couriers I know who visit on occasion.

I grow my own crops, but not enough to live on. Various fruits that I make trail-mixes out of. I generally take a mentat if I need to not eat for a while. It helps. Probably not my health though.

I was on the road til last year in December. At first it was because of the battle for Hoover Dam. I was working in Boulder and got flushed out when they bombed the damn place. Goddamn NCR. One would think they would rebuild it, but then I doubt they'd have the resources or time to do so, then or now.

After that, I drifted for a while. Might mention places I visited later on. This notebook was given to me by Ulysses. He insists on the name Ulysses but I tell him its dogroll. Says it is his way of "Understanding history" and he seemed to think that by writing a diary, I would be recording some. Out of respect for his choice of name, I will not record his old one.

Maybe he's right. If nothing else it will give me things to do between 10 and 11 pm. Provided the Gecko's leave me be.

Shot one yesterday. I'm not sure I hit it. They tend to stay out of the town itself, like there is some invisible line that prevents them from doing so. If they all attacked us one night this place would fall. But its quite clear they don't communicate much with each other. They stay in groups but don't seem keen on breaking away from family units. While I could take a hit or two, in my current state of health I would easily die if one really needed me dead. Thankfully, im having better days. But the heat here is not helping.

Perhaps i should explain my health.

Whoever the bastard was that shot me in the throat, he must be laughing now. Got all the money for my corpse without the corpse. My voice was unaffected at the time (This was about one and a half years ago) but my trachea was apparently rattled and parts of it broke off. How they kept me alive I do not know. I was told that over time my breathing may go through bad bouts. They recommended that when the air does get thin or toxic that I take a stimpak to keep me going. They were not wrong. But my voice has a slight rasp these days and I can only guess it will get worse. I will write about that some other time.

I have been talking about myself here because I suppose outside of the minds and memories of others, I don't really exist outside myself. I think ill stick to just recording things for now.

Today, Mitch said the next delivery of stims would be delayed by a week due to the Jackals. NCR, probably. They could watch those roads for a thousand years and let raiders through every hour because they were inspecting their shoes for Legion raiders.

Jackals? The reprobates the NCR supposedly wiped out back west? They are opportunists. Always were. I recall hearing from caravaner's in California say that they would sometimes look right at them, but if they were carrying decent artillery (assault rifles or submachine guns) they would let them past.

If the Jackals have somehow become more organised on the southerly route of I-15 then they must have got lucky or are being supplied elsewhere. Mitch as usual just brushed it off and said to be patient.

Trudy and I disagreed over the price of Whiskey again. These cap rates are extortionate.

Checked the Banana Yucca outside and it looked ok. Saw a Gecko near it some days back but it wasn't that keen.

Need to get new lenses for my binoculars.

Revolver cylinder keeps getting stiff, especially in the morning. Test fired it last week and noted it took more than 6 seconds to empty down range. Not good enough. Will ask Chet about weapon repair kits. Much rather have the tools the NCR sell in their territory. They can repair multiple weapons before they need to be oiled or treated. The ones we get here barely get through one weapon, even simple 9mm pistols.

Must somehow get hold of an auto pistol. The lack of ammo here means any guns for them are useless and it must have been months since ive see a trader or traveller wielding one. Apparently they used to be available from New Canaan but then they suddenly stopped some time ago. Probably Legion or Raiders. According to Trudy, one of the NCR rangers on leave who stopped in last month mentioned that a bunch of guns from New Canaan were sold straight to the rangers, mostly to the guards on NCR territory. Typical. The frontline troops never get the best tech or weapons, even armour. Much more important to look impressive at home to the NCR.

I still have my seven shots plus the one in the chamber for my colt. Keeping it in my safe for now. The revolver is adequate for pests.

Resources:

500 caps. Keeping most of it for buying needed luxuries, however.

Sixty 357. Rounds

The revolver

More stims and Mentats than I should really have

Wheelbarrow filled with scavenged (mostly scavenged) books

Contents of the shack which I wont bother to list here.

Food I am growing

Flare gun

Double Barrell that doesn't fire

Lets hope this diary idea gets somewhere. Will enter when I next feel up to it. Hope I see Ulysses again.

 **This is an idea I have been playing with for a while. We all know what happens in New Vegas. The politics, the factions etc, so I thought what about having it experienced and opinionated by an outsider, a loner? I will develop George Blair, whose name is quite deliberate. If anything, it is at least an exercise for me in writing in a different style and perspective.**

 **I will make the entries in such a way as to get across that this diary is hand-written by George. If it is annoying or anything, I will change that.**

 **Let me know what you think of this Idea. Thank you.**


	2. 11 11 80

11/11/80

Havent entered in this diary due to forgetfulness. Still, some things of note have occurred.

Mitch says the stims will be delayed for another few days. I am beginning to run low. I have 5 left plus the 5 I keep for emergencies.

Ulysses came to the prospecter on the 6th. He came up just to see me. He looks well. His dreads are coming out well again. He told me with some shame in his features that he had to cut it partially but refused to say why.

He spoke of the Divide, that town called Hopeville that I visited god knows how long ago. He looked depressed but also incensed about the subject. I know it was taken by some vicious disaster on the eve of the first slew at the dam. But Ulysses was there. He still hasn't shared how the hell he survived. He must have been some kind of lucky though. I tried to re-assure him, knowing his Legion sympathies, by informing him that the divide stopped the NCR from re-enforcing themselves quickly enough to move past the dam. So while they won the battle, the war was still in play and the legion still had a chance. But he wasn't much calmed by it. Sometimes he speaks well of Caesar, but I think what dominates him now is despair. I forgot to ask if he was acting on Caesars order as a courier right now.

He then started asking me about my sedentary life. He said that goodsprings was doing me little good and that I should move somewhere more peaceful like Arizona. The look I gave him was lost on him. I have no wish to return to the Legions lands. I have no love for the NCR, but I cant deny that their more industrial bent is more useful to a person like myself.

He was unfazed and repeatedly offered to take me wherever I wanted. I asked why he was so eager to leave the Mojave and after some pressure he admitted he was looking for a fellow courier who he had met in Hopeville before it became the Divide. He didn't know where she was but knew she was eventually going to turn up in the Mojave. He kept stressing that I should go somewhere else, East preferably. But I don't plan on it.

He left saying he might see me again, he wasn't sure. He stressed again that I should leave the Mojave as he did. I haven't seen him since. He is such an aged man, but he isn't even out of his twenties. When he meets me now, its as if he needs to unload his mind. I knew him before Hopeville. He was learned, but not quite philosophical. He needed a calling. He gobbled up books on religion looking for a faith but in the end he gave up, saying they were group-based. His tribe had been an identity but thanks to the Legion they no longer existed. He was more pro Legion then but he could easily talk as if he wasnt. I learned things from him. Its probably because of him I read. I could always count on him to buy books so I made sure to scavenge them when I went out into the wastes. Then I started to read a few. From there, as he would say, it was history. He still likes to borrow my books and he took some again this time. One I remember is "A history of English Speaking Peoples" the authors name was blacked out. He wasn't dissuaded when I informed him half the pages were missing.

I enjoy seeing Ulysses, but he worries me more with every visit. I hope that courier can give him the answers he desires and I hope he realises I cant provide them.

Sunny and I went out looking for Geckos and Mantis two nights back. In the end, we found little. One mantis did turn up near the water mains but I found no damage when I checked. We came across a degenerate called Barton. He didn't say his last name, but he looked well wrought. He was hardly armed and didn't seem thankful when I got to him. He probably has a basic camp somewhere nearby. He better not be some opportunist thief. I don't want to have to shoot a person but I wont hesitate if it comes to it.

Geckos are more persistent. The Banana Yucca was damaged last night. The revolver counted this time. I fired all six cylinders into it but it kept coming, its huge eyes obviously able to spot me at that distance, which must have been 15 metres. I fumbled some more bullets in and I fired again. That time it went down. I decided against approaching the Yucca until tomorrow, in case theres more Geckos. I was not at all scared during the encounter, but it was a job getting the fat carcass off my land. Bill came along and helped me move it down a small hill patch. I skinned it as outer vegas correspondents have said that skinning them rots them faster, which Is desirable.

Light keeps failing and flickering. Am going to dig towards the main wire tomorrow If I can. I think I would have heard on radio if there was a massive outage or power issue. Trudy said to not do it if NCR are about. Some obscure law prevents me from doing so.

Little else to say.

Today is the anniversary of "The Great War". Not the one we are still recovering from. A different one that ended all the way back in 1918. I know little of its particulars except that it was a mechanised conflict and that pre-war america took part. It is mentioned in passing in some of these books but i have failed to find one on the subject specifically.

Spoke to a passing trader about finding an old world printer (for books, literature, etc) but he gave me a shrug. It appears that he wasn't aware of them, despite specialising in tech.

Breathing was mostly normal since last entry. I was intensely short of it after the gecko encounter but I have since regained constitution.

Will update this diary when I can.


	3. 19 11 80

19/11/80

I have been travelling. I went down to Primm to speak with Nash about supposed Jackal raids. Rumours are circulating once again that they are resurgent. Nash said he hadn't seen any. He doesn't go out much though so this is subjective.

The locals there hardly spoke about the NCR-Legion Conflict. The fact that people will sooner complain about the NCR than say bad things about the Legion is interesting. I believe it is mainly because the Legion doesn't show themselves much. When they do, they leave a mark and don't fuck around with image issues. They care about frightening and coercing "Profligates" and nothing more. I find the NCR idiotic but not evil. Speaking with some women in the bison, they said that they disliked how "Insincere" the NCR were.

They try to act fair and deferential. The Legion is at least honest. But this is comparing apples to what are basically fascist oranges. If it comes to it, I may well support NCR, but only because I oppose things like slavery and misogyny. I, and people in Primm, the Nash's especially, don't want the NCR to lose, they just don't want the fight to happen at all. But it's coming. They all know it; they just don't wish to consider it. Because conflict means change and things are "good" just now, unless you are destitute or a Courier.

In the end, this fight will happen and people better start making choices. Or leave the Mojave.

Stayed in Primm for 3 days. Little occurred. The NCR camp across the bridge is mined. Almost lost my foot trying to get across while having a Battle rifle aimed at my head. This Jackal crap must have some weight to it. Either that or they are capitalising on excuses. Either way, the Trooper wasn't in the mood to chat. I want to talk to one of them, one to one.

After some bartering, managed to sell some potatoes and water to some off-duty Quarry Workers just before the turn into Goodsprings. But they paid me with that NCR paper crap. I met a gambler just a few hours later the Saloon who very kindly offered to trade my paper money for caps, as he would be getting casino chips either way.

Turns out they were fake caps. Decent ones, but I won't use them. Don't think that's fair. The man was out the door by the time I noticed. Well, Trudy did. Bastard. Hope he finds his way to the Sierra Madre and chokes.

Finding myself missing Primm now that I'm back home. Primm was more alive. People walked around, guns were kept hidden, no open carry, and people chatted, there were regular visitors. I like the quiet of Goodsprings but it gets boring and I'm cursed with a wish to be informed. My pen pals in outer Vegas are having a tough time with Squatters. I dislike the way they refer to such people. But it must be a genuine problem as they are writing to me less. They say I should visit.

Mitchell finally gave me the stims. But they were less than I hoped and he gave me them at a discount for the delay. Thank god. I've been without for a day. This afternoon the heat got too much and I nearly suffocated on the floor. Panicked but otherwise I'm now fine. Mitchell said I should let him know if it happens again.

Chet said high level repair kits for handguns could not be attained. He claimed the NCR have been putting tough restrictions on the higher grade of militarised equipment civvies can buy. It's disappointing and points once more to their complete discontent with small businesses. In Legion territory, if it's available and you can pay, you get what you pay for. No junk, no falsehoods. In California, they will do everything they can to keep things cheap. "Added value" is utter crap. That's why the repair kits are so easily damaged. The guns too. You can actually see some of those rifles and the wear and tear of their use. The NCR don't want a populace that can be armed consistently. I'm not pro-gun for all people at all times, but I think basics like hand guns and shotguns should be fair game. There are enough things out there to kill you that a gun is needed. The NCR don't want to sound like the politicians of the old world, so instead of restricting guns, they are selling them pre-used or half broken. Only the Gun Runners stuff is any good but the NCR have them charging extortionate amounts for things like double barrels.

The Legion is no better. Unless you are a master swordsman they have little worth having. But they emphasise individual training over mass production and marketisation. Soldier to soldier, if I see an NCR trooper, I'm ducking down and waiting till he finishes his magazine. If I see a legionnaire, I'm running for my life.

I go on and on about the politics, but it matters and I don't see others thinking about it. Back East, politics was a large idea. You had to live in a large place of for it to be taken seriously. The Mojave is large and, importantly, contested territory. The big fight isn't happening yet, but it will by the end of next year.

My big unknown is Mr House. Ha. An old Holotape I saw years back had a guy called "Doc House". From what I've read up on Both Houses, they were quite similar.

Note that i'll need to interview a pre-war ghoul. They aren't big on talking to smoothskins. Don't blame them. But I haven't spoken to a lot of them in the past. Still glad I shot that fuck back in "Two-Sun" (An old book I read had the name "Tucson" being pronounced "Too-sone" Not sure if they are the same place) who fired abuse at that ghoul woman at the deli place, whatever it was. Saw him walking with a limp before I took off. It looked sore. He was old-ish. He'll be dead by now, I think.

The door is damaged on its hinches so it isn't shutting all the way. Boy, it is annoying. Thank Christ all the flies died out with the nukes.

Well, the ones that didn't survive and mutate to kill unfortunate white people coming out of vaults.

Or was that Vault 3?


	4. 13 12 80

_13/12/80_

Ulysses hadn't met the Courier, after all.

A courier came to meet me wearing a vault 13 jumpsuit. I haven't seen her face around here much, but she was fair and did not ask for an annoying tip like they usually do. It was a letter from Ulysses. I have placed it in a full page on the next page.

 _To George Blair of Goodsprings, Mojave._

 _Deliver to the Prospectors Saloon._

 _Ask for 'Trudy'_

 _Hello, George. I hope things are well. I have been moving around._

 _I want to tell you I was not actually searching for other Courier. They are dead. And if they are not, death will find them. They trailed it behind them at every single step._

 _I hope you are still keeping your Diary. Important, writing. You are a learned man. The only thing you have failed to do is make history. America is not dead, remember. Its wounded, sleepy, but in the form of the bear, it lives, comatose of its true divining purpose._

 _I know you don't support Legion. Your choice. I don't agree with historical politics. But nonetheless, Legion takes from a better history. A history worth preserving. Book you gave me, it spoke of a history not unlike Americas. Colonising empire, expert at making war. Rises above its empire, makes itself powerful. Has frontiers it tries but fails to cross. Has a great enemy against it in its history (Hannibal and George III)._

 _Legion are from a better past, but are facing a much more inept and fractured future. The Legion will make more history. NCR, they are like paper. They use it as money too. Legion are my brothers, but I am forced to realise that they don't represent what i seek anymore. Caesar sent me on a task in New Canaan. Did much there. Im still there according to him. Dont feel like going back._

 _I am travelling to Big MT. I seek its own history. Little known about it. All I know is that I want to see if Pre War America may still yet rise, or have an army or technology that might explain itself. But all people who have walked it mention only desert._

 _I urge you, leave the Mojave. It matters more than you might think. Death of a species of our stature, as we have seen from 2 centuries ago, is never slow. It is large, big and catastrophic. Legion, NCR, Bull and Bear. One may outlive the other but both will die out in the end, I hope you escape that fate. You are important._

 _I have come across a pre war magazine. Pages surviving indicate "Subversive literature" that advises readers avoid. Intuition says such books are worth reading. If you find them, I hope you can keep them, to preserve and to collect. I will buy them off you if and when I return. I do intend to come back. But not for a while. A month at most._

 _The books:_

 _The Crucible (play)_

 _The Divine Comedy_

 _Paradise Lost. The name Milton appears near it. Might be author of note._

 _A book called Animal Farm. Sounds very useless but I will see what it can provide._

 _Darkness at Noon._

 _A book, called 1984. It might be historical book of the year, but the brief description entails it was fiction. Authors name is George Orwell. That name, I have heard it before._

 _You see value and trade in coin and cap. I seek history and knowledge and trade and barter with both. I know you see the same as me, but time and incident has injured you from travelling with me._

 _All or none of these books you may find and let me access. With you, I know I can at least speak freely and with someone of equal mind._

 _I will return, George. Be in Goodsprings near the start of Next year if you can at the absolute latest. If I don't appear by end of January, then history has decided my fate. But I aim to have completed trip by december._

 _If not, I will see you once more._

 _Ulysses_

I hope he can find things in Big Mountain. Like a printing press, maybe? Heres hoping. Deserts aren't well known for industrialisation.

Sunny today explained to me that, given the time of year, I should not stay out too late at the tavern, mentioning my health. Shes a damn fool. As if some idiot is going to shoot me while heading to my shack. In truth, I would defend myself, but with my breathing difficulties and my wish to travel more, I am forced to realise I may well die if I get too ambitious. But like ill tell her that.

Not that ill get chance. There had been word days past of a breakout at the Prison facility down the road. The NCR have scuttled and we see far fewer of them here. Trudy has told me that I report any unfamiliar faces and keep my gun at hand. Theres been more than one new face. Most of them are white, no older than perhaps 30. They were wearing blue jumpsuits. After some brief standoffs Chet agreed to trade with them for the dynamite they have. Fucking coward.

At least one began to wander in my direction earlier. He asked me to let him in the housel I told him I had a revolver trained at his head (in my haste, I didn't realise I had it on the empty chamber). He threatened to blow it up, me included. I retorted that if he did, not only would I likely survive but that every gun in the town would turn on him. He shifted a bit when he heard this. He kept moving closer and I fired a shot straight for his chest the empty clink momentarily made me feel dead already. So in a panic I pulled it again. This shot went off. It hit his gut, not where I was aiming. He stopped and clutched himself there while I fired deliberately in the air. He was scared enough to move away in great pain at this, dropping his dynamite.

These oppurtunists will not last. For one they cannot keep threatening us like this. The townspeople are refusing to pick up arms or defend themselves but the "Powder Gangers" are also not too keen to spill blood. Refuse them long enough, they will eventually settle for trade. Despite assurances, I doubt we can count on the NCR to route them. I'm advocating a citizens militia. Doubt it will get far. Im already getting word that they are being rounded up and that the prison is being re-inforced. The NCR are being prudent for once.

I haven't had chance for diary entries recently. Nothing of note happened in November and December has been the same.


	5. 16 12 80

16/12/80

The group of dynamiters have been rounded up and I hope we shant see them again soon.

Horrific thing happened. Bill, who I have been talking more to, recently, came to stay last night. What I thought would be a pleasant evening turned out bad. I had a bout of breathlessness that left me reeling. I couldn't stand and next I knew I was unconscious. I woke up the next day and he was gone. He had not robbed or pillaged from me. No. He had become a dead body frighteningly quickly. The smell of him! Chet and Trudy don't know what to make of it but I proved I wasn't responsible because there is one set of tracks leading from my shack and footsteps proceed from a separate direction, cross with Bills before there is a great mess of sand and dirt. Obviously some kind of encounter happened which I hope didn't involve me.

Trudy wants me to do rounds at the bar. Something about needing time off. God knows why. I said for a discount I would do it. She refused, so she and I are not speaking.

I feel I should explain a bit about myself and my past. If there is any histories worth recording, I suppose mines is one of them.

I was born in Arizona. But I am, functionally, british. Most natives anywhere here either doesn't believe me or doesn't know where Britain is.

Its an island, very dead now but with a great, tragic and sometimes shameful history.

There was a man called Alexander who established a government. His father, whose name wasn't recorded, or at least wasn't taught to me, had existed in pre war times. He was some kind of rebel. Pre war Britain was under alot of infighting when the bombs hit. The pre war government wiped out, John and his followers retired to their own vaults. Kind of like the Brotherhood of Steel, but better.

Alexander was a leader in the years after the war, once they had left their vaults and taken stock of the world around them. He died, a parliament was made. Apparently back then, in the 22nd century, Britain was almost a mechanised country by 2150. It had recovered from its troubles and had even sent exploratory parties into Europe. But they heard no response to any transmission they sent to America. Nothing but silence.

Anyway, my Mother told me that a great catastrophe hit Britain. Some kind of mass radiation or bad weather. But Britain fell, when it was right on the cusp of coming back. My mother said Father couldn't stop going on about how advanced they were. My grandfather, he fled on a boat with meagre supplies and drifted with his family. They landed occasionally on land. This would be about the start of this century. To this day I don't know what happened exactly, nor how my family survived and I've accepted I never will.

They got a proper boat and drifted around, eventually making their way to America. My father was born in some town on the east coast. My mother was actually an American, born in Arizona. Interestingly, she was travelling east and he west.

They, my family, travelled across the US, struggling all the way. They got into trouble but my dad, whom I never met, told my mother he always survived by using his voice. Fair to him, british accents cant be common here. They made their way as far as they could. My father met my mother and I was born. I don't know what year it was and the details are sketchy because all my past ancestors either died in Britain or when they made it here. My mother said I was 16 in 2254 but Pierson told me I was born in 2241. I've decided my mothers account was best. So I was born in 2238. I certainly feel 42 now.

Why they wanted to come to this enlarged dying country is beyond me. America doesn't exist, only its ideas.

My mother survived to raise me in Arizona. I was gifted from what was left of our unit a unique and strange accent which she said came from a land that, like now, was filled with tribes who faced a great power. Scotland, it was called. Apparently I sound a bit like them, but with a neutral bent. I probably get it from Pierson. He had travelled with my father and traded with him in toe. He was an immigrant too who could remember Britain. God I wish Id spoken to him more. He was an old man by the time I was of age.

I was just growing out of boyhood when the legion came. We fled but mother died on the way.

I was looked after by a collective of people I didn't know well until I could look after myself. I remember being taught to hold on to my heritage but its hard. No one knows or cares about Britain anymore. I wouldn't either but I guess for me, its my past. I have to hold onto it. Plus the people telling me this did not know my heritage.

I drifted for a bit until I did some time as a policeman of sorts, keeping law. I didn't like the job. It was a position of power and power makes me uncomfortable, both to have and to confront. I think I was scared I would enjoy it too much. That I would become comfortable with power.

Eventually I dared to go into Arizona again, now under the Legion. My 'tribe' were gone. We were called the Britons, which I found funny. No one remembers them. They were that rarest thing: Immigrants. They had dragged themselves across an ocean and escaped a tragedy then pulled across a tortured and wounded America, hounded by raiders and peoples they didn't know. Getting from one end of this continent to the other is obviously very difficult. It must be some kind of creditable feat for any who have managed it.

All of them, family by blood or spirit, speaking in strange accents and speaking of history no one around them knew. We were a curiosity at the best of times and invaders at worst.

And out of all of them, which must have numbered hundreds by the time I was born, and been killed or wasted collectively until it was just me. I am alone. My tribe, my nation, which I have never seen and which I know no one is from, is in me now.

What ever happened to Britain must have been quite odd. To think what they could have done. Mother said they had radio, they had communication, connectivity, even computers and a written law. She was, of course, just rattling off what my father had told her, but it fascinated me. That after the bombs, there was a real, living, developing society to come from the dust.

I will write of Britain again another time.

But that is my history, unlikely as it is.

I asked my mother, when I must have been a bit older, why my dad kept heading west. She said

"You father said society and civilisation is always west. So he went west. Ran into me and I convinced him to stay till you were able to look after yourself."

It is only now as I approach a presumed middle age that I realise she meant it. And so did dad.

But it rubs of classism to me, what he said. Mother told me he was always looking for the 'real' people of America who had guns and technology and so on. Like me, he was just parroting what his father had said, who had seen Britain in its heyday.

I long ago decided that while I craved being 'civilised' as much as him, I have to reject it. I have to fight my inner imperialist. The Legion call themselves imperial. I distrust it. And the NCR, the way they eat up tribes in a different way, they too are imperial. My Father was just a conqueror without an army. Every reference mother made to him drips with a lust for control, a wish for power and a disgust for tribal identity and people of different groups from us. Such arrogance from a dead-end generation of immigrant.

All my history has handed me is a love for books, limited awareness of Britain last century, the knowledge of how to live in America, and a strange accent.

I suppose I am just an American, but I call myself here a Briton. An inheritor of past tradition. Science, men named Newton, Milton, Keats, Shakespeare. Occassionally, a wastelander will know one of those names. But the occasions get fewer and fewer and it depresses me. So I hunt for books.

I know very little about my mother country now, but its history fascinates me and every day I learn more about it.

One day, I will go back and return to it.

I am a stranger in a strange land. And yet, I was born here.

That is my history. Ulysses saw it in me.

If Britain is dead, may its corpse end with me.


End file.
